lonely bed, she still felt the warmth of his arm across her
lap.
* * *
He woke to the sound of a man's voice, cursing, then retching repeatedly.
Sitting up, reaching for a rifle, it took Siegfried a moment to recognize where he
was in the gray gloom. Four intact walls and a floral carpet. Montclair. California.
Safe.
He relaxed onto his pillow, feeling sympathy for the sufferer, and sweet guilt
for the extra minute of rest before he extricated himself from the delightful bed with
its clean dry sheets.
He ignored the aching in his leg as he dressed swiftly and limped downstairs.
When he reached the archway to the kitchen he straightened, steadied himself
with one hand on the jamb, and came around the corner.
A young woman was setting the kitchen table. She was slightly plump, a
smooth olive complexion and dark hair combed into a neat bun. Her fine features
showed strain in a smudge of indigo beneath soft brown eyes. Full lips, pursed in
concentration, opened in surprise as she looked up at him. Her "Good morning,"
died in her throat as a fork clattered to the floor.
"Good morning?" Siegfried's greeting turned into a question.
"Peter said you--but I didn't expect you to--Oh, my. You look just like Bill. Like
Mr. Roye did, I mean. But your poor face." She closed her mouth and nervously
bent to pick up the fork.
When she stood facing him again, Siegfried gave her a half-bow. "You must
be...Maria? Peter is a lucky man."
As if in response to his name being spoken, Peter Verdacchia banged open
the screen door and came inside. His sturdy trousers and shirt, along with a
battered Stetson, already showed the effects of several hours of work.
He was a handsome man in his mid-twenties, with a full head of blue-black
curly hair, but his sun-weathered face was rather green this morning, as if he had
a miserable hang-over.
Seeing Siegfried, Peter exclaimed, "Crimeny, but you're tall, Sig--almost taller
than Mr. Roye was!"
"No one could ever be that tall," Siegfried answered with a slow smile. "It is
good to see you again, Peter." He put his hand out, remembering the sun-
drenched days and easy camaraderie of his apprenticeship.
The three of them, he and Peter and Bill, had shared their dreams that
summer. Bill, in his first year at Berkeley, had been army-mad. Siegfried had
wanted nothing more than to be a vintner. Peter had been ardently in love and
pursuing a shy young thing still in school.
She was now whispering furiously out of the side of her mouth into her
husband's ear. "Why didn't you tell me he's as good as the ghost of Bill Roye? I
nearly lost a year's growth!"
Peter gave a rusty chuckle and murmured disparagingly: "It's just because he's
so skinny. You fatten him up and there won't be any resemblance at all."
Maria turned and said with a hasty smile, "Welcome to Montclair, Mr.
Roderrn...Mr. Roddenwell...Is it all right if I call you Mr. 'R.'?"
Siegfried realized he had missed his opportunity to shake hands with Peter.
He stuck his thumb through a belt loop and considered Maria's question. "I will not
mind if my wife does not."
"Your wife?" In confusion, Maria turned to Peter again. "I don't remember
hearing about a wife. Oh, dear. I hope I've made enough for breakfast."
Before Siegfried could say anything, the screen door creaked and Alice
entered from the garden, carrying an armful of pink and white roses.
"Good morning." The door slammed behind her. "I see you've met Maria and
Peter." She eyed the tableau in the kitchen warily.
"He's just come down, Mrs. Roye," Maria said, busying herself at the stove.
Bacon sizzled, sending its tempting odors into the air with spits and spats. "Eggs'll
be ready in a minute. Hope you're all hungry! But I do wish you'd told me there'd
be another person for breakfast!"
Siegfried raised his eyebrows at Alice. Mrs. Roye? he mouthed. She hadn't
told Peter and Maria about their marriage?
"There will only be four for breakfast," Alice said guardedly. She tumbled the
roses into
lap.
* * *
He woke to the sound of a man's voice, cursing, then retching repeatedly.
Sitting up, reaching for a rifle, it took Siegfried a moment to recognize where he
was in the gray gloom. Four intact walls and a floral carpet. Montclair. California.
Safe.
He relaxed onto his pillow, feeling sympathy for the sufferer, and sweet guilt
for the extra minute of rest before he extricated himself from the delightful bed with
its clean dry sheets.
He ignored the aching in his leg as he dressed swiftly and limped downstairs.
When he reached the archway to the kitchen he straightened, steadied himself
with one hand on the jamb, and came around the corner.
A young woman was setting the kitchen table. She was slightly plump, a
smooth olive complexion and dark hair combed into a neat bun. Her fine features
showed strain in a smudge of indigo beneath soft brown eyes. Full lips, pursed in
concentration, opened in surprise as she looked up at him. Her "Good morning,"
died in her throat as a fork clattered to the floor.
"Good morning?" Siegfried's greeting turned into a question.
"Peter said you--but I didn't expect you to--Oh, my. You look just like Bill. Like
Mr. Roye did, I mean. But your poor face." She closed her mouth and nervously
bent to pick up the fork.
When she stood facing him again, Siegfried gave her a half-bow. "You must
be...Maria? Peter is a lucky man."
As if in response to his name being spoken, Peter Verdacchia banged open
the screen door and came inside. His sturdy trousers and shirt, along with a
battered Stetson, already showed the effects of several hours of work.
He was a handsome man in his mid-twenties, with a full head of blue-black
curly hair, but his sun-weathered face was rather green this morning, as if he had
a miserable hang-over.
Seeing Siegfried, Peter exclaimed, "Crimeny, but you're tall, Sig--almost taller
than Mr. Roye was!"
"No one could ever be that tall," Siegfried answered with a slow smile. "It is
good to see you again, Peter." He put his hand out, remembering the sun-
drenched days and easy camaraderie of his apprenticeship.
The three of them, he and Peter and Bill, had shared their dreams that
summer. Bill, in his first year at Berkeley, had been army-mad. Siegfried had
wanted nothing more than to be a vintner. Peter had been ardently in love and
pursuing a shy young thing still in school.
She was now whispering furiously out of the side of her mouth into her
husband's ear. "Why didn't you tell me he's as good as the ghost of Bill Roye? I
nearly lost a year's growth!"
Peter gave a rusty chuckle and murmured disparagingly: "It's just because he's
so skinny. You fatten him up and there won't be any resemblance at all."
Maria turned and said with a hasty smile, "Welcome to Montclair, Mr.
Roderrn...Mr. Roddenwell...Is it all right if I call you Mr. 'R.'?"
Siegfried realized he had missed his opportunity to shake hands with Peter.
He stuck his thumb through a belt loop and considered Maria's question. "I will not
mind if my wife does not."
"Your wife?" In confusion, Maria turned to Peter again. "I don't remember
hearing about a wife. Oh, dear. I hope I've made enough for breakfast."
Before Siegfried could say anything, the screen door creaked and Alice
entered from the garden, carrying an armful of pink and white roses.
"Good morning." The door slammed behind her. "I see you've met Maria and
Peter." She eyed the tableau in the kitchen warily.
"He's just come down, Mrs. Roye," Maria said, busying herself at the stove.
Bacon sizzled, sending its tempting odors into the air with spits and spats. "Eggs'll
be ready in a minute. Hope you're all hungry! But I do wish you'd told me there'd
be another person for breakfast!"
Siegfried raised his eyebrows at Alice. Mrs. Roye? he mouthed. She hadn't
told Peter and Maria about their marriage?
"There will only be four for breakfast," Alice said guardedly. She tumbled the
roses into
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